


Lost Son of Avalon

by Shadewynde



Category: CSI Miami, CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, CSI: Miami & CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Crossover With CSI: Las Vegas, F/M, Other, Romance/Supernatural
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-11-14
Packaged: 2018-08-11 07:27:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7882171
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadewynde/pseuds/Shadewynde
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio Caine faces a mystery that will change everything he knows about himself. Will it destroy Horatio, or give him the one thing he most deeply needs?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Painful Voices

**Author's Note:**

> I would call this story a mild "M". It is a romance(s?), but also contains drama, supernatural, action, and some alterations to the series canon, and begins shortly after the end of CSI: Miami (Season 10) and CSI: Las Vegas: (Season 15) Chronology have been altered somewhat, and Kyle Harmon has never existed. I hope you enjoy this, if people are interested, I will post the other chapters I have completed. If you do enjoy this, please leave a review - it gives a Muse treat to my Muse, which makes her happy. And me keep writing! :)
> 
> I do not (and never will, sadly, own or have any affiliation with CSI: Crime Scene Investigation or CSI: Miami.  
> But my OCs are MINE! :)
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks, and have a great day,  
> Shadewynde

-  
AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is set in an AU, and has appearances by the CSI (Las Vegas) team. In it, there is no Kyle, and it diverges a bit from the series. This is most definitely H/C, and is the product of a somewhat demented muse, but I hope you enjoy it anyway. Feedback gratefully and happily accepted, though flames will be stomped out and shot at close range with a .45. The characters from both CSI and CSI Miami are not mine, but borrowed and will be returned unscathed. Ian, Jason, and the occasional incidental character are mine. No profits made, and since I'm poor, please do not sue. Enjoy! :)  
-

LOST SON OF AVALON  
by Shadewynde

Chapter One: Painful Voices

"What's meant to be will always find a way."  
― Trisha Yearwood

Why didn't you save me? Blood on the stone floor, dark eyes accusing as they faded from life.  
Why did you let me die? Crimson flowing onto white, pain ebbing out to be replaced by the passing from life to death.  
You promised to protect me. Lost, painful gaze.  
Where were you? Countless eyes, empty and lost.

Horatio Caine jerked violently awake, fighting down a cry of sheer anguish.  
Sitting up in the bed, he fought down a painful shudder and glanced over in the semi-darkness to his chest-of-drawers, reading the time on the glowing face of the clock stationed there.  
5:00am.  
Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Horatio stayed there a moment, balancing his arms on his knees, head down, eyes closed.  
The agony became manageable, as he forced himself to focus, forced control over his tormented emotions.  
Speed. Marisol. Raymond.  
All the victims, the innocents, the lives he had only been able to find some answers for, not save.  
The pain welled up from within him, tore through his heart.  
Still the voices whispered, asking why, tormented, lost eyes that followed him wherever he went.  
Walking across the polished, deep brown, hardwood floor, he made his way to the shower, pulled off his nightclothes, and stepped in.  
He turned the water to as hot as he could tolerate, and let the steam burn away the feelings of guilt and helplessness.  
Head down under the water, he struggled for a few moments to be sure his control would hold.  
Pain leached under his skin, and he accepted it.  
It was his penance, and once more, he found the strength to endure.

When Calleigh Duquesne walked into the Miami-Dade Crime Lab, clad in dark blue pants and a comfortable white blouse, she immediately sensed something was wrong.  
Frowning to herself, she looked around, found everything as it should be, and found herself puzzling over the strange dread that rose in her throat.  
The Lab's hum of activity spoke of brisk organization, everyone moving about in quiet synch.  
Walking briskly toward the Ballistics Lab, her own personal domain, she smiled as her co-worker and lover, Eric Delko, fell into step next to her.  
"Morning." she greeted him, brightly, in her distinctive Southern accent.  
Eric was uncharacteristically solemn. He also seemed nervous - and sad? His white undershirt was hidden by a light blue shirt, unbuttoned, and his dark grey pants were creased and almost messy.  
"Cal - I need to talk to you. It's important." The dark-skinned young man looked into her eyes, as though pleading for understanding.  
"Sure, how can I help?" she asked, feeling a sudden sense of foreknowledge as she stepped into Ballistics, the young Cuban following.  
"I know, well...I mean," Eric took a deep breath. "We've been together a while, and I..."  
Calleigh could almost predict what he was going to say, but what surprised her was - it didn't hurt nearly like she expected.  
Eric plunged ahead. "I know we love each other Cal..." he continued, a little uncertainly. "But we don't...love one another. I don't want to hurt you, but...I've known a while now. You're my best friend, and I can't do this to you, and I can't do it to me." His eyes begged for reassurance.  
"Oh, Eric..." Calleigh's eyes were filled with tears, and she wrapped her arms around him. "I'm so sorry..." She had known too. For a long time.  
Why doesn't it hurt more? Why...  
Eric hugged back. "Cal, I know you may not believe me, but...for different reasons, I love him too." His voice was a whisper. "You have to tell him. You deserve to be happy. And so does he."  
Calleigh did cry then, holding onto Eric tightly, and feeling the tight embrace returned.  
For a long time, they simply held one another, but then stepped back.  
Gently lifting her chin, he asked softly, "Are we okay?"  
"Yeah. Yeah, we are. Eric...thank you." The shine of tears was in her eyes, but Calleigh felt a sense of release. As if a coil deep inside her had been sprung. She did love Eric. He was a good man, a good person. Her dear friend.  
He was also right.  
Another man had held her heart for a very long time, one that she was not sure returned her feelings.  
Someone she - treasured.  
How had her life become such a mess?

Ryan Wolfe was straightening his dark red tie and the collar on his white shirt as he turned on his way into the Lab. As he settled his clothes, he heard the radio came on, receiving a dispatch on a car chase in progress. He immediately tuned in the report.  
"10-57, subject fleeing on Northwest Thirty-Sixth. Speeds in excess of seventy miles per hour, in pursuit." the radio crackled.  
A hit-and-run? Stopping at the light when it flicked to red, Ryan's attention was caught when a bright red Lamborghini zoomed past him with a pair of Miami-Dade patrol cars close on it, sirens blazing. The sports car was about to round the corner, there was a muffled THOOM! and it abruptly exploded, debris flying up and out in all directions.  
With an inhaled, "Damn!", Ryan pulled in behind the second car and leapt out, running for the charred wreckage.

Calleigh passed by several of her co-workers and managed a friendly, "Good Morning." as she passed.  
The blonde paused outside Horatio's office, trying to collect her thoughts.  
She wasn't really sure what she was going to say, much less how to say it.  
It had been months since she had really talked to the man, and the sudden guilt made things even more complicated in her mind.  
Horatio had been so withdrawn recently that no-one had really approached him on anything other than a professional level, and she suddenly felt terrible about that. If nothing else, Horatio was her friend. He had always been there for her, for all of them.  
They all had dropped the ball in being there for him.  
Unobtrusively, she glanced through the window - and froze.  
Horatio, his dark blue shirt and deeper blue pants neat, somehow seemed - weary? He was absently holding his gun, expression thoughtful and contemplative as he turned the weapon in his sensitive hands.  
Calleigh had never felt so deep a chill as she did at that moment.  
His expression for a split second was almost yearning, and it terrified her.  
The pain on his face was almost palpable, something that passed through the careful veneer of calm and control.  
Something horrible was lurking there, something so massive that Calleigh saw it weighing down his gentle, compassionate soul.  
She saw his head lower, then he placed the weapon back on his desk, and she knocked quickly on the door.  
"Come in." Horatio's liquid-velvet voice rippled out with perfect control as Calleigh entered, but she wasn't fooled.  
"Horatio..." she started, voice cracking involuntarily, as she came in and shut the door behind her. Not suicide. Not Horatio. The thoughts whispered through her mind, trying for calm - and instead finding a terrifying sense of doubt.  
Behind the desk, his sapphire eyes met hers, a reservoir of infinite kindness and indomitable will.  
His head cocked to one side, his gaze flickering with concern. "Are you all right?" he asked, tone gentle and warm.  
She nodded. "Yeah, I just wanted to..." What? Tell you I'm in love with you? Tell you I just saw you - no...not you...  
At that moment, Horatio's cell phone chose to ring, and he said softly, "Excuse me." He lifted the phone, listened a moment, then said. "All right, Mr. Wolfe, I'll be right there." As he spoke, the lean redhead rose gracefully to his feet, flipped the phone closed, and picked up his dark blue jacket, sliding it over his shoulders in one smooth motion. The gun was returned it's holster. He gave a faint, rueful smile that in no way reached his eyes, then opened the door for Calleigh to proceed him. "A car just exploded on the freeway." Horatio said, by way of explanation, but before he moved out of the office, he met her gaze again, then gently squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry." His eyes, she suddenly noticed, were so sad.  
"I...Horatio, when you get back, I really need to talk to you..." Calleigh was suddenly afraid. Not for herself. For him. What kind of personal hell was he going through? And why hadn't she seen it sooner?  
"Of course. You hang in there, all right?"  
Seeing him retreat, fingertips on his always-shielding sunglasses, Calleigh suddenly wanted to cry.

Ryan whistled and shook his head as he examined the outer perimeter of the debris. "Damn, whatever happened, this thing really blew." he said aloud, just as another silver Hummer pulled in.  
As always, he felt a twinge of relief as Horatio slid out and approached him, sunglasses perched on his nose as he glanced about once, taking in the scene. "What happened here, Mr. Wolfe?" he asked, crouching down to get a better view.  
"I was on the way in, when patrols chased the Lamborghini right past me. They were clocking over seventy, according to the radio - said there had been a 10-57." Ryan explained. "I'm sure I heard the explosion just as it was taking that turn."  
"As it slowed into the curve. Hmmm. Okay, let's sift through this mess and see what the evidence tells us." Horatio rose. "The victim?"  
"Uniforms are taking statements from the witnesses, Loman's taken the body back to the lab."  
The Lieutenant regarded the car, expression unreadable as he took in the damage in a glance.  
"You see something, H?"  
"See that burn pattern?" Horatio indicated a series of pitted cracks traveling along the side up to the front of the hood, almost hidden under all the charring. "I think that this explosion was planned."  
"A bomb?" Ryan stared over into the remains of the car.  
"Someone wanted the driver dead, and an innocent pedestrian was in the way."

The twisted, burned remains of a male was almost literally peeled from the remains, and the wreckage loaded on a waiting trailer as Walter Simmons and Natalia Boa Vista joined Ryan at the crime scene.  
Natalia was dressed in a stylish, but professional blue shirt and white slacks, a stark contrast to Walter's comfortable dark pants and button-up yellow shirt.  
Horatio had moved over to take witness accounts from the patrol officers, and Walter stared up into the trailer.  
"Wow." he said, shaking his head.  
Natalia walked over to where pieces from the wreckage lay. "This is going to take a while to process." she observed, ruefully.  
"Yeah, H thinks there was a bomb." Ryan commented and shrugged helplessly. "Let's get to work."

As Horatio was climbing out of the Hummer in the Lab's parking lot, he sensed someone approaching and began to turn, just as a wave of sheer agony washed over him. He barely felt the blow that sent him reeling back against his vehicle, and was unconscious before he could reach his gun.  
His body hit the pavement with a faint thud, and was still.  
The attackers, one tall and thin, the other muscular and almost squat, clad in matching, slightly dingy whitish jumpsuits, worked quickly, with the speed of practice.  
Staying behind the Hummer, out of line of sight, they roughly lifted the unconscious redhead and moved low to the ground.  
As they moved, a van with a Miami-Dade seal emblazoned on the side pulled up, blocking the view from the lab, and the unconscious Lieutenant was loaded in.  
"Blasphemer." spat the tall one, glaring at the prone form, kicking the still body hard in the side and making the sign of the cross.  
"We will purify his damned soul, brother." said the other, as they climbed in and the van pulled away. "Before we kill him, in the name of God."


	2. Captive Angel

LOST SON OF AVALON  
by Shadewynde

Chapter Two: Captive Angel

"Strength does not come from physical capacity. It comes from an indomitable will."  
― Mahatma Gandhi

By the time Ryan, Natalia, and Walter made it back to the lab, it was almost 4:00pm.  
Most of the "loose" debris was lay out on the table, and the trio was slowly sifting through it, one item at a time. It was slow, painstaking work, and they were almost on auto-pilot, speaking rarely.  
Calleigh had a report from a case-in-progress - an accidental shooting that was more tragic than anything else - when she passed by them and stopped in her tracks. Glancing up once at the wall clock, that feeling of dread came back in force.  
She knew Horatio had not come back yet, he would have said something, checked on her. He was nowhere near - rude - enough to not do so.  
Something was wrong.  
Forcing herself to believe her boss was simply held up somewhere, she stepped into the Layout Room, asking almost abruptly, "Have any of you seen Horatio?"  
Ryan looked a little startled. "H? He isn't in his office?" he asked, surprised. "He was on his way back from the crime scene, but that was hours ago..."  
"He hasn't come by...I needed to talk to him, he said he'd stop by..." Calleigh stopped and quickly indicated the clipboard. "Something's wrong."  
Natalia and Walter looked at each other, and Ryan stared at the ballistics expert. "He'd've checked on this case, yeah. You're right, we'll check. C'mon, Walter. Natalia, will you check with the front and see if he's signed back in?"  
"No problem." The dark-haired woman was as concerned as her friends.  
Minutes later, the four met back at the front desk.  
"No sign of H." Ryan said, eyes showing real concern now. "Eric's checking the parking lot..."  
"His Hummer's out there, and I found...I think I found blood." Eric stepped off the elevator, looked quickly over at Calleigh, then back at his fellow CSIs.  
The cold dread in Calleigh's stomach crawled quickly up her spine. Almost without thinking, she jerked her cell phone from it's hook on her belt, and dialed. It went straight to voice mail, not even a dial tone.  
Calleigh stared at the phone an instant, feeling her heart-rate accelerate.  
Horatio was missing.  
No, she thought, forcing down the chill that was turning her blood to ice. Not missing. Someone took him.  
"We have to find him." she whispered, and this time the whole group felt the chill.

Horatio woke to pain, which only increased when a hard fist slammed into his abdomen.  
"Confess!" A voice shouted, as the Lieutenant's senses began to report in. "You are part of this!"  
He was tied to a chair, wrists held by rope, and bright light in his eyes. Despite the burning pain along his optic nerves, a blurry image formed.  
A sizzling, cracking sound marked the death of his cell phone, as one of the large, white-grey figures stomped hard on it several times.  
"Answer swiftly, and your suffering shall be brief." The other voice was lower, harsher.  
One in front, one on the left. Horatio thought, saying nothing.  
There was a flurry of blows, and he heard shouts, voices raised in a kind of sick, organized frenzy.  
The pain made the CSI jerk reflexively back, but he remained silent, despite his disorientation.  
When another blow came, hard, the CSI allowed himself to sway with the punch, moving his hands subtly, feeling the knots.  
This time, two blows, and a wave of pain ripped through him, almost making him lose consciousness.  
One knot was giving a little under one hand, and Horatio forced himself to focus on that, just on the knot.  
"This will loosen your tongue, blasphemer!" The low voice shouted, and something sharp jabbed into the redhead's arm.  
Agony, confusion, and a strange wash of near-euphoria - but something in the subtly-struggling Horatio's mind kept yelling, Stay awake, stay awake, focus, FOCUS...  
"Go get the others. He'll confess to me, brother." This voice was slightly higher, educated, cold.  
Horatio heard the steps as the two he had identified moved away, heard a door open and close. Mind reeling, he forced himself to rip his hand free, dropped down, and swung his other arm, feeling the chair swing with it. The chair's leg caught his captor in the right temple, sending the man crashing to the ground as it flew painfully off Horatio's arm.  
Not thinking, running on sheer force of will, the CSI launched himself toward the left, finding himself crashing into a wall after a few seconds. His fingertips moved as he did, hand supporting his weight, as Horatio moved quickly down the surface, feeling a dull relief as his questing hand found a seam - felt a vibration.  
An air duct, up high, but Horatio knew that whoever was after him would soon return.  
Pulling on the grate, his hands felt a give and he hauled himself up, crouched down, and yanked the grate back behind him.  
Barely able to think, swamped with pain, Horatio turned left, pulled himself up - kept moving, until he found an enclosed space.  
Whump-whump-whump.  
The pain swamped his senses, confusion, strange images danced in the darkness, and he pulled his knees up to his chest.  
His hand went to his now-rumpled jacket, on reflex, and he felt the familiar lines of his sunglasses.  
The pain - inside and outside - was so intense that he found he could barely even lift his head, much less move.  
Distant whump-whump-whump sounds were the only thing thing that kept him conscious - the sound of the warehouse's industrial-strength fans.  
As his mind and senses exploded, Horatio fell into darkness.


	3. Finding Home

OST SON OF AVALON  
by Shadewynde

Chapter Three: Finding Home

"Only in the darkness can you see the stars."  
― Martin Luther King, Jr.

The Miami-Dade Crime Lab's parking lot was bustling as a man slipped around the side of the roof, watching the small group clustered around the Hummer, staring through a pair of high-powered binoculars. Clad in dark pants loose enough to allow quick movement - but not baggy - and a pull-over short-sleeved grey shirt, his only other clothing was a pair of nondescript, dark blue tennis shoes with velcro straps rather than laces.  
Still as a statue, his hidden gaze moved from each CSI to another.  
Each working figure was a name to him, a person.  
Calleigh, Eric, Ryan, Natalia, Walter. He frowned. Where are you, Horatio?  
Finding no answer, the watcher stayed low, moving down the length of the roof, and made his way with quick efficiency back down to the ground.  
"Any sign?" the dark-haired man that was waiting was about his age, seeming almost scruffy in jeans and a white t-shirt, along with black sneakers, looked at the other man searchingly as he dropped lightly in front of him. His voice was almost sardonic save for the concern that laced it.  
"They got to him before we did."  
"Damn it." swore the newcomer, matching the observer's stride. "We've got to find him, Jase. Fast..."  
"We will, Speed." Jason accepted the nickname as he always did, as did his companion, and ran a hand through his blonde hair. "C'mon, let's scram."  
Tim Speedle looked back once at the group, then followed after Jason, forcing the worry he felt into action.

Whump-whump-whump...  
Horatio managed to lift his head, though the effort cost him tremendous effort.  
The Lab... His team, the case...the pain...  
The euphoric flashes had faded into a sense of sense-swamping pain.  
Emptiness.  
Voices rasped in his mind, accusing, crying for help that never came.  
Somehow, somewhere in his tortured mind, Horatio knew he'd been drugged. He knew the signs, knew in a numb, vauge way what was happening, heard the voices beneath him.  
In the mad chaos his mind had become, he thought only one thing.  
Calleigh...

Knowing that they had to process the car, the team reluctantly split up - Walter and Natalia headed back to Layout, while Calleigh, Eric, and Ryan started a search for their missing friend and boss.  
"Blood sample's positive." said Eric, looking up from the microscope into his friends' eyes. "I've run a match. It's H's."  
Calleigh's heart sank, and Ryan's eyes widened.  
"Okay." Calleigh forced herself to a semblance of calm. "What do we have?"  
"Droplets were gravitational, that means the...kidnapper...was leaning over H when he was already down." Eric glanced once over at Calleigh, concerned, then swallowed hard. The thought of Horatio out there, bleeding, in the hands of someone intending to do who-knows-what to the man he privately considered both father and brother, made him feel almost ill.  
"Not enough for a severe injury...?" Half-question, half-plea. Green eyes met brown as Ryan blew out a breath of air near the door.  
"Enough to hurt, but nowhere near enough for a kill." Eric replied, unable to hide the relief in his voice.  
Ryan looked from one of his friends to the other. "Any foreign blood?" he asked, aware something deeper was going on. Something he couldn't quite put his finger on.  
Eric bent back down over the 'scope, adjusting his view as he slid in the second slide. "Well...yeah. Yeah, there's a second contributor. Definitely." He looked up and found a reassuring smile for both his friends, though he knew it fell short. Eric straightened, deftly removing both slides. "I'll get this to Trace."  
"I'll go check on the driver, and the victim." said Natalia, reluctantly.  
"I'll tell Frank, bring in all the help we can get." Ryan looked over at Eric, then back at Calleigh. Something in the way she stood, the withdrawn look in her eyes, and the distance between her and Eric... Oh, man. he thought, ruefully. We all need you back, H. Some of us even more than others.

Jason looked one way, then the other, unobtrusively, gave Speed a quick nod.  
Within seconds, both were inside the warehouse door, moving off to the smaller room to the right.  
Musical "pings" were audible as they entered the tiny office, leading Speed to glance wordlessly at Jason, who shrugged helplessly.  
A tall figure was leaned back in the office chair, long fingers tapping the empty air with purposeful gestures. Each movement produced a distinctive musical "ping" that seemed to originate from thin air.  
"You keep doin' that, and one day your cover's gonna be blown." Jason's drawl was amused.  
"That would be tragic, hmmm?" The return was in a steady baritone, marked with a faint, but distinct accent. "What do you know?" Serious now, emerald green eyes swung upwards to regard the pair, under thick, ink-black hair.  
Jason ruffled his blonde hair absently and sighed. "Well..."  
"They got to him before we could." Speed spoke up, voice dry and unhappy.  
The black-haired man sat up so fast even Jason backed up a step. "How many do we have here, in Miami?" he asked, voice sharpening.  
"So far, seven. Two of 'em cops." Jason's reply was immediate.  
"Put them all on this. And pull in anyone we can from any investigative agencies." The taller man leaned back into the chair, eyes closing a moment. "Speed, where would a search start for your colleagues?"  
Speed's expression told the other two he was running different scenarios through his head, then he said, "H's place. They'll look for clues there, anything that could tell them anything..."  
"Who?" asked Jason, though both men could tell he had a pretty good idea.  
"I'd bet Calleigh."  
"Meet her there."

Natalia came in as Doctor Tom Loman, the Medical Examiner, was beginning to cut a Y-incision into a young woman.  
Inside, the dark-haired former FBI agent sighed. Poor thing couldn't be more than sixteen.  
"I can tell you that she died from impact from an accelerating car. Shattered glass in the wounds, and I'm betting I'll find internal injuries consistent with that." Loman said, before Natalia could speak.  
"Do we have an ID?"  
The doctor nodded, glancing once more at the still body, and reached around to pick up the clipboard on the side table.  
"Jenny Thorpe, fifteen. Her parents were visiting the Agramont and saw the whole thing." Loman shook his head. "They gave permission for the autopsy, I think they're in shock..."  
Natalia nodded. "I'll go talk to them. Let me know if you find anything, okay?" she said, and on his nod, headed back out the door.

Calleigh had thought that the clues would be more evident than they were at the lab, but things were dragging almost agonizingly slowly.  
She decided that the best idea would be to track Horatio's movements, and that started at his home.  
So she stood, holding the keys given her long ago for an emergency, on the doorstep of the missing man's condo, kit in hand.  
She had never been to this place, but it was nice enough, and, she noted the security.  
Of course. He was a cop, he'd be cautious.  
Swallowing once, she used the three keys to open the deadbolts and the door, and slipped inside, dropping her kit inside the doorway.  
Inside, the first room was warm and pleasant, with the walls in deep colors and rich accents, a place designed to be calming, comforting.  
The furniture was largely a pale grey, with a long sofa and wide, comfortable chairs on either side and one facing away from the wall.  
There were a few pictures on the walls - one of them was a beautiful, dark-haired woman.  
Marisol.  
Calleigh had to close her eyes a moment, then quickly looked at the others.  
Horatio's brother, Raymond, his wife, Yalina, and their son, Raymond Jr., smiled from the wall.  
A picture on the mantle was of an older woman, with large, sad eyes. There was a vague resemblance to both Horatio and Raymond, which could only mean that it was their mother.  
That was strange.  
Looking around again, she saw no sign of any likeness of Horatio's father.  
She felt a sudden pang of guilt. Horatio was a private man, he didn't let people in lightly or easily.  
But here she was.  
I'm sorry, Horatio. Calleigh thought silently, as she moved around the condo.  
A computer was near the kitchen bar, neatly placed to avoid being in the way, but easily accessible.  
The bookcases on the wall - both of them - were filled with books, one side was full of classical literature, the other, forensics and crime.  
She went slowly through the room, and saw the grand piano in the corner.  
A violin sat nearby, placed on a stand.  
Staring at them, she noticed a an acoustic guitar on the wall.  
Do you play music, Horatio? Have you played long? What do you play? The disjointed thoughts ran through her head as she found a simple manila folder perched on the piano's shelf.  
Unable to resist, she lifted it into her gloved hands and flipped it open.  
Inside were at least a dozen scores, for a variety of instruments.  
For once, Calleigh was glad she had taken an Art Appreciation class in high school. It let her read the music, appreciate it's flow and grace, the fluid mechanics of sheer rhythmic power.  
The notes were hand-written.  
There were a few moments where it simply didn't register, didn't make sense.  
Horatio Caine wrote music? Played music?  
There had never been a sign, nothing that she could remember - though he had mentioned a few musical pieces in passing.  
Calleigh stared at the sheets, for a moment unable to put them down.  
Why would you hide this? Calleigh couldn't help but think. Surely he wouldn't - couldn't - be ashamed?  
Reluctantly, she put down the music, feeling as if she had invaded Horatio's privacy. She could only hope he'd understand, when - when - they got him back.  
There was a small closet on the far left of the room, and she carefully opened the door - and was nearly hit in the head when a rectangle of what she thought was cardboard tumbled off the top shelf. Stooping, she picked it up - and froze.  
It was a painting.  
Of the team.  
But it wasn't just a physical, flat thing. The spirit of each person had been carefully rendered, artfully executed.  
Each person radiated a - reality, a rich character that flowed together in elegant harmony.  
This was no amateur work, this was a small masterpiece.  
Unconsciously she turned the painting around, feeling shock give way to fascination.  
It was hard to wrap her mind around the fact, but Horatio Caine was an artist.  
The man had gone out of his way to hide the fact, but Calleigh found she really couldn't understand why. Most people would have been proud of this kind of ability, announced it somehow.  
Despite being a little ashamed of letting her curiosity get the better of her, she looked into the closet and found a horde of sketchbooks. All of them more or less casually stored in plastic bins.  
Lifting one, she thumbed through it, stopping at a sketch - of her.  
Oh my God. Her brain reported in a moment later, noted the - beauty - he had captured with exquisite detail. Is...this how he sees me? She stared at the image for several seconds before placing it back in the box and closing up the closet.  
Swallowing a few times as she worked, Calleigh followed the short hallway into his room, and looked around.  
A neatly-made bed, king-size she thought, was in the middle of the room. It was rich, dark brown wood, which flowed gently into the rich hardwood floor. The comforter was a rich ivory, matching the pillowcases and she was pretty sure that the sheets were white as well.  
She found herself blushing a little, feeling little sparks fly from her fingertips as she touched the soft comforter.  
Her treacherous mind threw out the image of a sleeping Horatio under these covers, Calleigh took a few calming breaths before forcing the images that threatened from her inner eye.  
Turning around, she noticed that the bedroom had a window, and a beautiful view of open water.  
The place was - ordered. Carefully ordered. When she checked the bedroom closet, even his suits were neatly aligned.  
She went back into the main room. There was a television on the wall, positioned to allow a clear line of sight.  
The kitchen was clean and again, ordered, the rich brown of the cabinetry soft in the light.  
The chairs and table were arranged so that they were easily accessed, and neat and clean.  
Calleigh looked around again, and finally went back to the door, opened her kit, got out her penlight, and abruptly thought of the computer.  
Maybe there was a threat, something that I can trace... Calleigh flipped it on, and realized suddenly that she had no idea of Horatio's password.  
Well, that is going to make this tough. she thought, irritably.  
After the screen came up, she entered her own password and entered the personnel records, wondering if they had been accessed. From there she typed in Horatio's name, waiting the few moments for the file to come up.  
Access denied. Jacket sealed.  
Calleigh stared at it, confused. Personnel files were open to every detective and greater.  
Why was Horatio's record sealed? That made no sense!  
She decided to move up the chain of Horatio's past from the beginning, to see if there was any other activity.  
Access denied. Educational records sealed.  
Access denied. Juvenile records sealed.  
Now this was getting really odd. Why on earth would his educational records be sealed? Much less his juvenile records?  
Horatio, I know you like your privacy but this is insane! What are you hiding?  
There was a crack and she spun reflexively, hand dropping to her gun, and was staring down the barrel of a large-caliber handgun as a figure ran across the room at her. The scrawny, middle-aged man with close-cropped dark hair, snarled at her, "Blasphemer! You serve the spawn of Satan, but I will stop you..."  
A distinctive whump! sounded and the man hit the floor with a bonelessness that meant he was already dead.  
The window on the far side of the room was broken, and a youngish man with blonde hair, wearing looseish pants and a pull-over shirt, climbed all the way in. "We gotta get out of here!" he told her, in quick, urgent tones.  
"Who...what...?" Calleigh's voice stammered uncharacteristically, and the man turned sharp, grey-blue eyes on her.  
"Calleigh, come with me. This is for Horatio."  
The newcomer grabbed the keys Calleigh had left on the counter, ran past her, locked the deadbolts and door lock, came back, and easily lifted the body, draping it unceremoniously over his shoulder.  
Strong hands caught her shoulders, propelling her out the window, almost speed-marching her down the steps and directly into a dark-haired man waiting.  
Calleigh actually gawked, staring disbelievingly at the living wraith before her. "Speed! But...you're...dead?" she managed to get out, green eyes huge with shock.  
Speed shook his head, smiled wryly, then deadpanned. "Well...I got better."


	4. Shot in the Dark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoy this next chapter.! Remember, reviews feed my muse. Please let me know what you think. :)
> 
> \- Shadewynde

LOST SON OF AVALON  
by Shadewynde

Chapter Four: Shot in the Dark

"Family is not an important thing. It's everything."  
\- Michael J. Fox

Horatio felt consciousness return, and the now-familiar bite of pain.  
It was hard to concentrate, but he forced himself to focus.  
The voices below him were difficult to make out, but the pitch had raised - they were angry, and they were moving.  
Closing his eyes, the CSI forced his mind to work, to think.  
With the pain was a gnawing emptiness, a void that he knew, from years of observation.  
Withdrawal.  
He was cold, almost trembling, and he was finding staying conscious more and more difficult.  
Struggling to take a deep breath, he opened his eyes, forcing himself to listen.  
The voices stopped, one raising and becoming distinct. "Find him, before he warns the demon!" the lighter, educated voice was commanding, a thread of something worse than madness weaving through it.  
Fanaticism.  
And somehow, he was part of that more-than-madness.  
But he didn't know how.

Natalia found the parents clinging to one another in the hallway.  
The mother, a somewhat frail woman with faintly-greying dark hair, was sobbing uncontrollably into the shoulder of an equally distraught, taller man. He turned dark eyes on the approaching woman and held his wife a little closer, as if to shield her.  
"Mr. and Mrs. Thorpe?" Natalia gentled her voice, sympathy in her tone.  
"I'm Neil Thorpe." the man spoke up, eyes flicking nervously up at the young CSI.  
"My name is Natalia Boa Vista, I need to ask you a few questions?"  
"What about Jenny?" the mother's voice trembled. "My Jenny...my baby..."  
"Did you...witness the accident?"  
"Accident?" The man fought down down a sob. "That monster hit her! He was speeding, she was just ahead of us, a few steps! Just a few steps.." Tears were in Neil Thorpe's anguished eyes. "And he drove away! How could he do that? How could he leave my little girl just laying there?"  
Natalia tried to be reassuring. "As soon as we know anything, we'll be in contact."  
"Find the man who did this to my baby." Mrs. Thorpe almost wailed.

Eric and Frank Tripp were outside the elevator when Ryan came hurrying up.  
"Eric, Frank - we got a hit, but you're never gonna believe this." said the young CSI, his expression excited.  
"Who?" Eric's expression was urgent.  
"Andozza. Peter Andozza. And here's the part that is weird - he's a priest."

Calleigh was barely aware of the rapid transitions from the street, to the marina, into a taxi, out of the vehicle, around several streets to a near-abandoned warehouse district, and into a door.  
She did notice that the body was missing when the young blonde man returned after only a few seconds, but everything was a rapid-fire blur.  
And she kept looking over at Speed.  
Alive.  
Somehow, by some miracle, alive.  
"The redoubtable CSI Detective Calleigh Duquesne." The lightly-accented voice belonged to a third man, who was obviously waiting for them. He was tall, with thick, ink-black hair, and was clad in black slacks and a white shirt. Unusual, emerald green eyes regarded her thoughtfully.  
Then he sketched a faint, but not mocking, bow. "A pleasure."  
"And you are?" Calleigh's chin came up, defiantly.  
The man smiled slightly, and nodded to himself, as if confirming something. "My name is Ian."  
"Well, you already know my name." The blonde was wary, but something about this man just didn't read as hostile.  
"I take it you met with some difficulties, Jason." Ian's gaze had turned to the young blonde man's.  
"Yeah. Found a straggler in Horatio's condo. Coulda been a scout." Jason grinned wolfishly, lounging easily against the doorframe. "Too slow, now, too dead."  
"I didn't see anybody outside, and we made tracks back here." added Speed, avoiding Calleigh's gaze.  
"That was wise." The dark-haired man was nodding.  
"I don't know what is going on here, but I was almost shot, then witnessed a shooting. Care to clear that up?"  
"Once a CSI..." muttered Speed, shaking his head.  
"Why, my dear Miss Duquesne, that had nothing to do with murder." Ian shook his head. "That was merely prudence. And, I might add, it did save you from an unfortunate demise."  
"I appreciate the help, but I still need to check..."  
"The crime scene?" Ian smiled faintly and shook his head. "Jason?"  
"Hey, even a shark needs to eat."  
Calleigh stared at him. "That body is part of a chain of evidence..."  
"Forgive me for being blunt, but evidence be damned." Ian said, a sharpness in his tone. "My concern is hardly about a would-be murderer. I have more important things to worry about than that."  
"Such as?" Calleigh challenged, watching the man closely.  
"Horatio Caine."

"Father Andozza?" Eric approached the older man, regarding him steadily. "My name is CSI Delko..."  
"I know who you are." There was distaste, even disgust, in the priest's voice, which surprised the younger man.  
"We need to ask you a few questions." Ryan jumped in, hearing the older man's tone and immediately suspicious of it.  
"This is a house of God, Detective." There was a distinct warning tone to the voice. "And yes, I am Father Andozza."  
"We're here investigating a kidnapping." Eric started again. "Evidence places you at the scene."  
"What kidnapping?" Father Andozza's voice was cold.  
"A CSI was kidnapped from our parking lot nine hours ago." Ryan said, watching the man. "And we found your blood there."  
"I am a servant of God. I am sure you are mistaken." Andozza was coolly dismissive.  
"Evidence doesn't lie." Eric could feel himself getting angry. This man was hiding something, he was sure of that.  
"If you had conclusive proof of any kind, I'm sure you would arrest me, true?"  
Eric was glad when Ryan jumped back in, he didn't trust his voice.  
"We'll be in touch." Ryan's voice was coolly civil.  
"Seek the truth from God, it is never too late." Father Andozza turned away, effectively dismissing the pair.

"This car was definitely bombed." said Walter, who surfaced from the evidence with a small tube in one hand. "Look at this."  
Natalia took it, and carefully examined it. "This looks like a piece of a detonator." she said, frowning. "But it's pretty burned. This thing must've been red-hot before the explosion."  
"Yeah. Didn't Ryan say the car blew as it was slowing down?"  
"It was going into a curve." Natalia nodded.  
"So it exploded the moment it slowed down - a remote control, maybe?"  
"Maybe, but no sign of a receiver."  
"Let's check the main car."

"What do you want with Horatio?" Calleigh was instantly on guard.  
"Only the best, my dear." replied Ian, with a faint smile.  
"Trust me on this, Cal." said Speed, suddenly meeting her eyes. "That's what we all want."  
Calleigh crossed her arms. "All right. Explain it to me. Where is he?" she demanded.  
Ian closed his eyes a moment, brow furrowing, then looked directly at the blonde woman in front of him.  
"All I know is an enclosed space with a steady sound."  
Jason thought about that. "Hey, air duct."  
Speed and Calleigh both looked at him, startled.  
"Enclosed space, could be a fan, right? A loud fan?" He pointed directly up, toward the industrial fan turning with mindless efficiency in the ceiling.  
"You missed your calling, Jase. You shoulda been a CSI." said Speed, dryly.  
"No way. Rules aren't my thing." Jason grinned at Speed, and then at Calleigh, who frowned at him.  
"How do you know he's where you think he is?" she asked Ian, watching closely for any sign of dissembling.  
"That would be telling." The dark-haired man smiled, and Jason laughed. Speed rolled his eyes to the ceiling.  
"Let's assume you're right." Calleigh was actually hoping he was right. At least then, there'd be somewhere they could start looking.  
"Time to hack the CSI mainframe." said Jason, with an impish grin. "Everything nice and collected about Miami there."  
Calleigh was actually taken aback. Who were these people?  
Jason gave a jaunty little salute and trotted out the door, whistling to himself.  
"You realize he's committing a felony." Somehow Calleigh was not surprised when Speed chuckled.  
"Yeah. He's good at that."


	5. The Cavalry Prepares

LOST SON OF AVALON  
by Shadewynde

Chapter Five: The Cavalry Prepares

"There is no time for cut-and-dried monotony. There is time for work. And time for love. That leaves no other time."  
― Coco Chanel

Though her husband had officially ended their relationship, Sara Sidle Grissom was unable to fully process that fact.  
As she idly searched through old email in their shared computer, still feeling numb, a "sent" email caught her eye.  
It was from Gil, labelled simply, "Thank you.", and had been sent yesterday.  
Unable to resist, Sara opened the e-mail, and read:

Horatio -

Thank you for looking after Sara. I know I'm asking a lot, but  
I know you will keep an eye out for her. I can't hurt her this  
way, and besides, I'm an old man now, she has so much to live  
for. I'd rather her hate me than see this happen. It's better  
this way. I hope, one day, Sara will know how much I love her  
and forgive me. Until then, I'm trying to keep up. The doctors  
say that it's inoperable, too far spread to the tissues and  
other organs. I can't tolerate most of the drugs, but I'll be  
okay. Thank you for being such a good friend. I hope you're  
doing well. Thank you again, for everything.

Gil

Sara stood there in shock. Gil was sick? He left her because he was sick? She read over the letter again. It had to be cancer. Some kind of cancer.  
Vacillating wildly between horror and fury, she looked at the email address.  
It had been sent to a server in Miami. Someone named Horatio Caine, but the email address was hidden.  
Sitting back, Sara's mind ran through everything that had happened since that horrible phone call from Gil.  
Okay. she thought. What do I know? What am I not seeing?  
An increase in pay grade, but not in rank. All through email. Kind of suspicious. In fact, the money hadn't been official, but it had paid for her apartment. And a few necessities. Where the hell had that money come from?  
And who was Horatio Caine?  
She thought quickly and an idea came to mind. A friend of Gil's that he trusted this much must be in a similar field.  
First check was entomologists.  
Nothing.  
Crime Labs were second, and immediately she had a hit.  
Horatio Caine, head of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab.  
She frowned though - why was his personnel jacket sealed?  
Frowning to herself, she checked for anything on the man.  
What she found - or rather didn't find - was even more interesting.  
Caine's educational and juvenile records were sealed as well.  
Sara looked into the public record then - and found his email address, care of the Miami-Dade Crime Lab.  
She considered, then began to type in another search.  
The search found something she had not expected, not even considered.  
According to the information, Gil had never returned to work after he had sent that email.  
Twenty-four hours - nothing.  
He had simply disappeared.  
Heart in her throat, Sara tapped in a series of codes to access hospital admissions in Costa Rica. No-one under the last name of Grissom, but three "John Does" had been admitted to the Hospital de Buenos Aires from near the dig site at Bolas.  
The dark-haired woman swallowed involuntarily when the list indicated one of the three had died, but her gaze confirmed this casualty was an elderly man. Another had left, victim of minor injures.  
Looking at the last entry, she saw that the final man had simply disappeared from the hospital.  
She stared at the screen, and had a chilling sensation in her stomach.  
Was Gil out there, sick and maybe confused? Hurt? Launching herself from the lab seat, Sara started determinedly toward the Lab.

Eric was scowling as he and Ryan started back toward the Lab.  
"He's hiding something - beyond being a complete jerk." he growled.  
"Yeah." Ryan looked over at his friend, noticing the tightness of his jaw as the dark-skinned man drove. "He didn't like us at all."  
"He was acting strange, especially for a priest."  
"You think he knows anything about H?"  
Eric turned into the parking lot. "I don't know, but he knows something he doesn't want us to know."

Horatio was resting his head back against the metal wall, eyes closed.  
You should have been there. You should have saved us.  
The whispers of the dead tore through his mind, and he could find no reason to not agree with them.  
He should have been there.  
How many people had died because of his failures? How many innocent souls left irrevocably scarred?  
An image floated into his mind, a hand holding a whip, a whip with glass...  
He gritted his teeth and tried to not remember, not think...  
This is all your fault. The harsh, grating tones echoed in his mind, down a dark tunnel, and Horatio's stomach clenched.  
A door, a kitchen counter, blood...  
No! The silent cry was anguished, desperate.  
Your fault...your fault...

Calleigh watched as Speed spread a map over Ian's desk, pouring over it, though his dark eyes glanced up at her a few times.  
"It'd take days to check every one of these." Speed said, expression frustrated.  
Ian didn't lift his head. "Days we most definitely do not have." he said, fingertips moving along the map.  
"Maybe we can narrow it down." Speed suddenly looked up, just as Jason was coming back in.  
"They'd have to have a place they could come and go from without being noticed, right?" Speed went on, as Jason took up his seemingly-nonchalant stance near the door.  
Ian's emerald gaze was sharp, and Jason jumped in before anyone could say anything else.  
"So they'd have'ta to have something to do with a church?"  
Ian nodded, thoughtfully. "Cross-reference our data. Find anything near a church. Or belonging to one."  
Jason grinned. ""There's nothing quite like a good quest for getting your blood pumping." he quipped.  
Calleigh and Speed looked at him.  
"Tahir Shah. You know, In Search of King Solomon's Mines?"  
"Jason. Go." Ian said, in a slightly amused tone.  
"Off we go..." The younger man, said cheerfully, and "Into the wild blue yon-der..." echoed down the hall as he headed off.  
"You still haven't told me why you're looking for Horatio." Calleigh was still on-guard, despite Speed being there.  
"Why are you looking for Horatio?" asked Ian, absently.  
"He's my...friend." Just a moment's pause had Speed crack a knowing smile, which made Calleigh cross her arms and glare at him.  
Ian looked up, a faint smile on his lips. "I'm sure." he replied, and his tone was gently teasing. "Is that what this generation calls it?"  
Speed looked over at him and the older man nodded slightly and returned to his work.  
Jason came back in, holding a laptop in one hand and a stack of steaming cups in the other.  
Despite the situation, Calleigh was impressed at the display of balance.  
Sliding the laptop onto the table, Jason passed the top cup to Calleigh, the next to Speed, and the bottom one to Ian. He didn't spill a drop.  
"Coffee, coffee, and whatever weird stuff you drink, Ian."  
Speed took a deep drink, ignoring the heat, while Calleigh looked at her's.  
"Laced with sugar." observed the former CSI, not looking up.  
Calliegh looked at the three, and suddenly decided that if they had wanted to do anything to her, they would have by now. Besides, she knew Speed wouldn't hurt her. Despite all the high-speed confusion around her, she still believed that.  
She took a sip, and it was laced with sugar. A lot of sugar.  
"Okay, one church, Blessed Trinity Parish, has a few warehouses." observed Speed. "Something doesn't feel right."  
"Yeah. Like involving the regular church? No way."  
"What does the Catholic church have to do with this?" Calleigh demanded, eyes on Speed.  
Jason made a rueful noise.  
"They want me dead." Ian replied, absently.  
"The church wants you dead?" Calleigh was skeptical.  
"To be sure." Ian looked up, and shrugged. "It's a very long story."  
"And there is an understatement!" Jason chuckled, before pointing to the laptop screen. "I also checked out warehouses near the Crime Lab." He motioned Calleigh over, and despite herself, she joined them. "Look at this."  
"Three empty warehouses." Calleigh's attention was caught now, and Speed scooted a little over, but not far. They were shoulder-to-shoulder.  
"And one medical warehouse." Jason said, tapping the circle. "Storing drugs caught in a sting from last week. Nice and refrigerated."  
Speed looked sidelong at Calliegh, who stared at Jason.  
"How do you know it was a sting?"  
"Intel is my business." The blonde man grinned, and Speed smothered a chuckle.  
"Let's hit this place." Speed hesitated, then turned his gaze on Ian. "How long?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.  
Ian closed his eyes. "Twenty-seven hours." he murmured.  
Calleigh stared at him, and felt an unaccustomed sense of helplessness.  
And she did not like it at all.

Sara swung into the Lab, saw Nick and Greg, and moved immediately over to them.  
"There's a problem." she said, without preamble, and both men looked up at her, startled.  
Taking a deep breath, Sara's voice stayed steady. "I need to find out about a missing man. From a hospital in Costa Rica."  
The stares were concerned, then confused, then Greg asked uncertainly, "Costa Rica?"  
"I need to know if..." Sara stopped, then started again. "I need to find out where he went."  
"Sara..." Nick started, hesitantly.  
"It's important." The woman was frustrated, but she really didn't want to reveal more than she had to.  
"Okay." Greg spoke first, and suggested, "I'll check. Maybe he's just been discharged..."  
Sara wanted to hit something, her frustration reaching maximum. She took a deep breath to steady herself, gritting her teeth.  
Nick shrugged helplessly as Greg moved over to the computer, calling up up hospital records.  
Moments later, Greg looked up. "Well, I found something weird..." He scratched his head as his expression turned sharp. "Two missing men from near Buenos Aires, and one in Miami, all within a few hours."  
Sara's gaze was sharp. "Miami? Who's missing there?"  
"Head of the Crime Lab there, Horatio Caine."

Eric and Ryan had met up with Tripp in the Lab, and had shared their opinion of Father Andozza.  
"I'm telling you, Frank, he's hiding something." Eric said, voice vibrating with frustration.  
"Yeah, well, just on the off chance, I'll run a check on him." the Texan shook his head.  
"All we have is H's blood and Andozza's blood. We couldn't even find a scrap in the parking lot." said Ryan, voice equally as distressed.  
"He's been missing over nine hours, and we got nada." Tripp said, voice showing his concern and frustration.  
"We're missing something." Ryan said, crossing his arms and frowning.  
"I'm gonna go back to H's Hummer and go over that area again with a fine tooth-comb. There has to be something there." Eric stated, struggling with a sense of fear. They had to find Horatio. There was no other option.

Natalia finally came up from the innards of the wreck. "I found something." she said, triumphantly.  
"What?" asked Walter, blinking from the slight ash-residue.  
"A necklace...pretty melted, but it looks hand-made." Unconsciously tugging on her lab coat, the dark-haired CSI carefully held out the small object to her companion.  
Walter stared at it for a few moments, then his eyes lit up. "That's not a necklace, see that melt pattern? It's not jewelry - it's a rosary."

Horatio found himself welcoming the bursts of darkness. It was better than the painful and accusing voices that scrabbled at his tortured heart.  
He struggled for breath, barely feeling the tremors that shot through his muscles, aware of the shuddering timbre of his breathing.  
Closing his eyes, he found himself wondering if he was going to survive this.  
Another part of him wondered if he even wanted to.  
He forced his mind onto another track, found a memory of seeing Eric and Calleigh smiling at each other.  
Happy.  
His mind veered a little.  
Oh, he had wished...but that would have been dangerous. It would have put her in jeopardy.  
He wanted her to be happy, them to be happy.  
That was much more important than his selfish desires, and he had squashed them mercilessly.  
His eyes opened, vision blurry, and he thought of his wife involuntarily, remembering her.  
Every moment, every touch, every heartbeat.  
Dead.  
Because of him.  
One day.  
Just one day.  
I'm sorry. he thought, as the familiar pain tore through him. I'm so sorry.


End file.
